


Walking in Wiltshire

by Bonfoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Shot, PostWar, Romance, Written in 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wiltshire is a lovely place full of Malfoys, Magick, and Potterne.  On his birthday, Draco gets a surprise he didn’t expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking in Wiltshire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LJ Community - Pornish Pixies](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=LJ+Community+-+Pornish+Pixies).



> I swallowed a dictionary and it shows with this piece. Draco just wanted to talk a bit more _himself_ and then he’d do what I wanted. This is also in honor of lj community Pornish_Pixies undeletion and ~~The Internet is for Porn~~ challenge they presented. Whilst I’m not as inventive as I wish, I am suggestive! *lol* (circa 2007)

§§§º§§§º§§§

**_Disclaimer:_** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life. 

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

§§§º§§§º§§§

Not far from his family seat, Draco Malfoy walked through the picturesque town of Potterne. During the Conquest, relatives from all over Normandy had worked their way to the area. Wiltshire had been a hotbed of Magick and Muggle mingling for centuries and the area reflected it. There’s even been mingling of native and foreign wizards all those years ago.

He stopped at the quaint inn, The George & Dragon, for a pint or two of The Bishop's Tipple ale. He’d developed a taste for it after the war and he liked to commemorate his birthday—and his freedom—with a few arm-bends of that at the end. In fact, it was in Potterne that he realized just how close his family and the Potters had once been.

In a secluded corner of the town, tucked away in an area that Muggles had been avoiding for centuries, stood one of the finest medieval manors and once the major seat of the Ancient Family of Potter. Abandoned after the Witch Trials of Cromwell’s age, the home had once again gained a lord and servants at the end of the Second Voldemort War.

He felt the heavy cardstock in his pocket bending as he leaned against the bar, right foot resting on the brass rail, left hand twirling the wildflower he’d plucked from the small planting next to the door. “Oi, barkeep!” he called, waving his empty pint, “another Bishop’s here.” He slid the Muggle money across the bar and watched his ale being poured. The simple action lulled him into a peace he hadn’t felt since he received the invitation.

Once the bottom of the glass had been reached again, Malfoy straightened his spine, put the flower in his lapel, and took a deep breath. “Best not keep the executioner waiting,” he muttered under his breath. With a smile, he tipped an imaginary hat to the barman and single maid in the pub and sauntered out into the crisp evening air. For the end of a June day it was cool, filled with the smell of newly mown lawns and roses. He took a deep breath and headed for the heath on the far side of town.

Within minutes he stood outside of impressive wrought iron gates. The ironwork was filled with creatures of myth, mostly dragons in flight. The quick grin that crossed his face grew to a real smile as he saw the dragonflies flitting about the ivies and the hedgerows. He saw the thick rope pull tied with a scarlet ribbon at the bottom and tugged twice.

“Hmm…you did that with a great deal of verve, Malfoy.” The dry comment was said in Hermione Granger’s voice but the woman who stepped into view was sleek and stylish, with only a faint reminder—the color of her hair—to harken back to their schooldays. She waved her hand, wand clutched close to her wrist like during the war, and the gates creaked open. “C’mon, Malfoy. You’re the last to arrive. People have been milling about for an hour.” Turning smartly on her heel, the leading Research Witch of the Ministry of Magic led the way around to the east side of the sprawling manor.

As they rounded the last privet hedge, the noise hit them. Clustered in groups reminiscent of their school houses, almost two hundred of the most preeminent witches, wizards and magical beings stopped talking as if on cue when Malfoy stepped into the garden proper. For once, Draco knew the meaning of deafening silence as he became the cynosure of all eyes. Then, someone called for attention and the moment was gone.

“Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, witches, wizards and magical beings. I thank you for your attendance at the investiture of the newest Wizarding Diplomat.” Standing dead center on a raised dais between the gardens and the patio of the manor was an elegant former Slytherin, Pansy Zabini-Weasley. The pug-nose had been fixed years ago but the snide tone remained the same; yet, widowhood and a second marriage seemed to have softened some of her rough edges. “Now that we are all here,” she stared at Malfoy with a faint grimace, “I can introduce our host, Harry Potter.” The applause— _from those with hands_ —and the corresponding howls— _from those without_ —shook the very air around them.

“Thank you, Pansy. Thank you all. The opportunity to welcome you to my home, as well as to honor a man who truly deserves it, may never come again.” The rabble laughed. “But, enough of that…I call Draco Malfoy to the dais.” The crowd parted like a wave on the shore and something intangible drew him forward.

Wary grey eyes glanced right and left, noticing fellow Ministry employees, even an Auror or two he’d shared investigations with. He looked everywhere except Potter’s deep green eyes. It wasn’t until he stood in profile to the crowd that he even glanced at the man in front of him.

_Damn him! I’m probably the entertainment before the Ambassador comes. Damn them all!_ he fumed to himself. He would have ground his teeth but for the fact that Malfoys never showed such poor manners in public. Ever. While he was silently incensed, he’d missed the rest of Potter’s words.

“And, now, with the permission of the Ministry of Magic, I give you the newest Ambassador to Wizarding France…Draco Malfoy!”

Stunned, the blond wizard stepped backward. “N-n-no! What is this? Some bloody big joke?” He began storming off the stage, pushing bodies out of his way as he headed back toward the gate he’d entered through. Once again, the silence caught his attention. Everyone was looking at him with elation slowly leaking away from their faces.

A muttered spell— _Incarcerous!_ —and Malfoy was falling to the side. “You are a twitterpated dunderhead still, Draco.” After twenty-five years of prickly friendship, that snarky voice could only belong to the singular Severus Snape. The long black robes smelling of Foxglove and Asphodel inches from his nose only reinforced the knowledge that his former Head of House had been in on the joke. 

“Severus,” a soft voice chided, “let the fellow go free.” Remus Lupin, one of the Magical Being Ambassadors, stood nearby and motioned for the wandwork to begin. “I’ll bet he had no idea that the ambassadorship was his. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Malfoy?” Draco nodded his head and the magical bindings disappeared.

Remus leaned over and offered a hand up. Perhaps Malfoy’s better instincts were in control, or else he’d hit his head when he fell, but he took the hand with a muttered “thank you, sir” and stood brushing the grass off his robes.

Again the crowd parted and there stood Potter. Potter with a venerable manor mentioned in the Domesday Book; Potter with more power in his little finger than any wizard living; Potter who had gone to the trouble to honor him. “Damn, Potter…you could have given me an idea.”

“Sorry, Draco. It took some careful maneuvering to do this.” Harry turned to include the rest of the assembly. “First, today is your thirty-seventh birthday. Do you know how hard it is to give you the perfect gift? Second, I was sick and tired of the way the real heroes of the war were being treated. I figured that my fame should be good for something, so I contacted Hermione, who contacted Pansy, who spread the word. This is not just because we appreciate all you’ve done helping restructure the Wizarding UK.” He blushed but persevered. “Hell, Malfoy, you deserve this! You know more about Beauxbatons and the French Ministry of Magic than the rest of the Under-ministers combined. You earned this…we just made certain you got it!”

Looking into every face nearby, Draco realized that Harry Potter meant what he said. Looking past him, to Severus, to Lupin, to Pansy and the others, he saw the truth in each of their faces. “Are you telling me that the prat you’re here to celebrate is **me**? That I’ve been dreading this for no reason?!” he choked out. “Damn, Potter, you really know how to screw a guy, don’t you?”

Potter blinked. If Draco could read his mind right then, he’d have found out that the only guy Harry wanted to screw in any loud and satisfying manner would be the blond, grey-eyed, insolent, atypical aristocrat that went by the nickname “Ferret”. Instead he turned to the crowd and raised his hands, “All right, people! Let’s celebrate!”

The war whoop of the Weasley Twins and the multicolored fireworks drowned out the applause. Unfortunately, it did nothing to hide Draco’s slow realization that all the work he’d done redeeming his family’s honor, rebuilding its image in the Wizarding World, had been noticed and dragged into the public eye by dint of Harry Potter _et al_. He sidled closer to Potter and leaned over to say something he hadn’t said too many times over the years, “Thank you, Potter. This is the nicest gift a man could get.”

├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤

Later, those words would come back to Draco. Luckily, it was after Potter—Harry—had backed him against a solid oak door with a carved phoenix on it. “Draco, I would give you another gift, you know? I mean those silver cufflinks from Pansy are nice…and the miniature emergency potions kit from Snape is practical…and the Foe Mirror from Firenze and the other Centaurs is a great gift…but…”

“Potter, say what you mean. Although…by the bulge that’s nestled against my thigh, I’d say your gift would be a personal one.” Draco leaned down to kiss his husband of three years deeply. “How you ever kept this a secret—with Pansy involved, to boot—is beyond me. I see her and Bill Weasley every other week when I’m checking accounts in Gringotts. Hermione is…was…my superior and she didn’t even crack a smile at the gate.” He put his head on the slightly shorter brunet’s shoulder and whispered, “You could take me to bed and tell me all about your oh-so-Slytherin machinations on my behalf. I’d be willing to let you go kinky on my arse if you did that.”

Spontaneous Apparition had become part of their lives, especially when Harry was both tipsy and horny. They found themselves falling into their large bed and giggled as they bounced. Harry’s bright green eyes glowed with pride and love for the man in his arms. “I love you, Draco Malfoy.” He swooped in and pressed a chaste kiss to the blond’s chin. “I love that I could finally surprise you.” He lavished an open-mouthed, tongue-tangling, breath-stealing kiss on the mouth that had been so hurtful earlier in the evening. “I even love the pride that keeps your aristocratic spine so straight.” He squirmed against his husband’s still-clad body, seeking relief and release.

“Here now, Potter! Not getting off without sharing that delectable bum with me.” Draco tore Harry’s shirt open only to stop and stare at the leanly muscled torso framed by the now-tattered silk. “Every night I see that chest I thank Merlin that you’re mine, Harry,” he whispered. He bent his neck and suckled at the point of Harry’s chin, drawing out a whistling whine unique to the Man Who Won. Each centimeter he moved drew variations of the sound from those kiss-bruised lips, stirring him to taste more and more of that skin. Finally, he fell back on the bed, still fully-clothed but with the taste of Harry on his lips. “Get nude now, love, or we’ll both be stuck in these clothes.”

Once again, Harry’s incredible magic came to their assistance and the clothes were no more. Draco didn’t mind; between the two of them they had enough Galleons to outfit themselves for decades to come. They settled against each other, warm, throbbing and ready to consummate Draco’s birthday. “Shall I tie you up tonight, lover? Drape that lean body with green silk ties and a blindfold?” He writhed wantonly against Harry, seeking more of those exquisite sounds. “Should I stick that naughty pink-and-purple dildo up your arse and drive you to distraction for not letting me know I was now an ambassador?” He watched those brilliant eyes cross as he ground his own turgid cock into Harry’s. “Or…should I suck you until you’re turned inside out? Until your toes not only curl, but your cock bobs in time to my voice?”

Potter’s body jerked and bucked, responding to every suggestion that that upper-class voice “Oh…aah…Dra-a-co!” Smirking to himself, the former Slytherin Prince played the man he loved like a violin, stroking sighs and plucking moans with every other touch. Rarely was he the one in charge at first—not that he minded—but, making the most powerful man in the United Kingdom fall to pieces with the touch of his hands, his voice, well…that made him relish the experience that much more.

“Are you going to come all over us with just the sound of my voice, Harry? I thought you wanted something else? Something nice and kinky, something that involved that hot candle and my cock? Well…what does the lord of the manor want from his bed-partner?” Draco’s cultured voice, rough from overuse, thrummed across the brunet’s nerve-endings. Harry couldn’t help himself and shouted his release against the man of the hour. The screech of teeth against one another was the only sound his husband made as he stopped himself from coming as well.

When Harry’s orgasm had run its course and the man’s eyes had unrolled from the back of his head, Draco reached down and rubbed his index finger in the come. “I think this is a good start, Harry.” He rubbed it against the rosy quoit of that delectable arse and felt the quivering begin again. With very little preparation or pressure, the finger breached the muscles keeping him from his goal; unerringly, he found Harry’s prostate and drew forth a new round of whimpers, sighs, and pleas.

“For keeping such a secret…so Slytherin of you, lover…I’m going to ream you into sparkling pieces, Potter.” One finger became two. “I’m going to shove myself so far up your arse that you exhale me.” Two became three. “I’m going the come so hard, Harry, that my spunk will come out of your cock.” Potter’s arse clenched and writhed around those long fingers. 

Reaching out, Draco found the drawer with their little lube pots and plucked one out at random. It was the work of only a moment to pop off the cork and slather his fingers. “I’m going to bury myself in you, Harry,” Draco choked against that sweating skin. “I’m…damn, Potter! Do you want a fourth finger? Don’t you want my weeping cock pistoning in and out of that tight hole?” Pushing himself away from the body beneath him, Draco got to his knees and lightly rubbed the lubricant into the sensitive organ. Harry’s slitted eyes followed every move, his only awareness showing in how his legs splayed open and his hips tilted upwards in greedy abandon. “That’s it, Harry, watch me. See how hard my dick is for you? I’m going to fill you up and keep filling you until we can’t see straight.”

Finally, after what seemed like eons, Draco’s pulsating cock was inside Harry with one push. Both men stopped moving, stopped gasping, at the action. Then, the Man Who Won squeezed his thighs around his lover’s chest and the dance began again. Neither one had words, only the sounds that had been made since time immemorial. Sliding, sucking, their bodies worked in tune, years of coming together and drawing apart only rush back together made it so easy. Suddenly, the bottom of the world dropped out and the pair were screaming in unison, pearly ropes springing from between them and hot jism rushing to fill Harry’s bum. The high was so intense, they both passed out from it.

├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤

Harry woke up tangled more in Draco than in the Egyptian cotton sheets of their bed. He had to shoulder his way past the man who’d fucked him so lovingly the night before because his bladder told him so. The slight hangover was also incentive to move.

Ten minutes later, hangover potion taken and pressure relieved, Harry leaned against the doorframe and looked at his husband. Sprawled out amongst the covers, those white limbs glowed. The look of peace that only he could wake to was so beautiful, he didn’t want to disturb it, but, being a brave former Gryffindor, he was certain to. So, he approached the bed and launched himself onto his paramour’s reposing body.

“OOF! Geroff!” Flailing arms and huffy breaths a minute or three later, bleary grey eyes opened to the world. Grousing and grumbling under his morning breath, Draco still couldn’t deny that Harry’s exuberance was less annoying than it was attractive. “See here…ooh, sore…Potter. I turned you into sparkly pieces last night, how is I’m the one fractured?” He raised a languid hand to his forehead, rubbing at a tender spot. Harry’s nibble fingers pushed his aside and set to massaging away the small ache. 

“Yeeesss…” hissed the English Ambassador. “Lovely, simply lovely, lover. So what else do I get of my birthday?” His eyes fluttered shut and he soaked in the gentle massage. “You still never told me how you worked this all, my Potter. Call for strong tea and tell me.” 

Eyes closed, the blond on the bed missed the smirk crossing Harry’s face. “Draco Malfoy-Potter! You know a man’s got keep some mystery!” he jokingly chided. Draco’s _harrumph_ was response enough. Laughing, Harry continued his ministrations until the furrowed brow was smooth again.

Curling up at Draco’s side, Harry began detailing all the work and some of the moral bribery that he and the others had had to use to advance the brightest politician since Churchill. Like a flower in a spring shower, the once forgotten hero soaked it up with a grin. “You always know what to give me for my birthday, Potter. Intrigue, a touch of scandal, and a position of power…however will you top this next year?” He stretched like a cat, realizing that there was no feeling of dried come on his body. With a look, he asked the question.

Grinning, green eyes sparkled as Harry answered. “Got to love spontaneous magic…Now, c’mon! Everyone spent the night and this afternoon, we’re plotting together. I couldn’t keep all the fun to myself, now, could I?” Slipping to the side of the bed and beckoning his husband, Harry Potter-Malfoy wriggled his fingers. “Besides, I need to make you scream like you did me last night. I remember something about being allowed to go kinky on your arse if I told you my machinations…” he trailed off when Draco practically rematerialized at his side.

“Kink away, Potter. This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten yet.”

_~~~ Finis ~~~_

_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_

**Author's Note:**

> ├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤ ∏ ├┬┤
> 
>   
>  **Research**   
> 
> 
> _Wiltshire_  
>  Potterne _Poterne; Bishop of Salisbury before and after 1066; Arnulf of Hesdin and Robert from him; Alfward from the king. 7 mills._ Near Potterne Wood; manor house; Blounts Court.  
>  _From:_ Thomas Hinde, Ed. The Domesday Book: England's Heritage, Then and Now. London, NY: Greenwich Editions/Salamander Books Ltd., 2002.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The George & Dragon, Potterne, Wiltshire: “Within a 20 mile radius of the [15th Century] inn there are enough attractions to keep anyone entertained for two weeks. These include: Stonehenge, Longleat, Bath, Salisbury cathedral, Stourhead gardens, Wiltshire fire defence & brigades museum, the Kennet and Avon canal, Atwell Wilson motor museum, Lacock Abbey, the Fox Talbot museum, Avebury stone circles, the American museum, the list is endless.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> Wadworth Brewery really does make The Bishop’s Tipple.


End file.
